Letters from Nora
by artificial-paradises
Summary: Elenora (Nora) Talbot thought she had her whole life figured out. A dream job working for the prestigious New York Times was within her reach, and life with her single mother had never been better. However, after an unfortunate turn of events, Nora found herself with her dad, living a life that was completely far from one that she wanted. (Eventually Dylan/OC)


**Hello! Thank you SO much for deciding to read this fic. This will eventually be a Dylan/OC fic, although I have to build the story up to that point. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.**

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><p>712

The future.

The one thing everybody will tell you about it is that it's unpredictable. You can prepare yourself for it, chart out all the outcomes, all the possibilities, and yet the one thing you desperately wish you could control is never truly yours to command. I've learned that life has a way of kicking you in the ass when you least expect it to.

Take me for example; I've lived with my mom ever since my parents got a divorce back when I was still a little pain wearing diapers. Mom told me she had to do it. She said it was because of the weed. Truth is my parents hadn't been doing so well after they got the shock of their lifetime. Once they realized they were going to be parents it was as if a switch went off in mom's head. Since she was unemployed at the time, and dad got next to nothing for being a janitor at the towns high school, she figured it was time to step up and start life properly. Whether my dad was on board with this idea I never knew, but mom sure as hell was persistent about it. She constantly bugged him about asking for a raise, if he could just somehow get the Board of Education to understand, it would happen. Only it didn't, and dad knew it.

So that's how it started. Dad needed the little extra cash in his pocket and took up a job guarding weed. That's right, guarding a field full of the drug people couldn't get enough of. He didn't even have to work his ass off and was still getting paid the big bucks. It was the best job for anyone in need of extra cash.

When mom found out, and she always had a way of finding out, she practically threw him out of the house. Said she didn't want her child's father to be involved in anything of the sort, no matter the pay. And when he didn't move a muscle she scooped me up and bought a one way ticket to New York, never looking back.

Now, being raised by a single mother in a city as big as New York was not a walk in the park. Mom had to juggle a job and keep her eyes on me at all times. But through all the ups and downs, we managed. In fact we kicked some serious ass. Everybody who was anybody knew not to mess with us; we were practically a power duo. Mom ended up taking a job as a receptionist at The New York Times, while I worked my ass off trying, unsuccessfully to land a job in said building. As a top notch reporter, of course.

After years of hard work I managed to get a small gig in the paper. It was the summer before the start of junior year and I knew that was it. I was in. There was no way in hell they could turn me down now. I scored a meeting with one of the head reporters, planning out the ideal colleges and the path I would still have to take to completely seal the deal.

It was perfect. Life at that moment was better than anything I could have ever imagined. But here's where the curve ball kicks in. The one unexpected moment that changes the perfect life I was so close to grasping. It came in the form of an old, mentally unstable man. It was a couple minutes past 6 in the morning. Mom had just gotten to work when the man ran across the street, gun shots firing in every direction. He was screaming, and he had managed to dig a bullet straight into my mom's lungs. In the few minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive her lungs had collapsed and she died. I wasn't there with her.

Her death, as I later found out, was one of many that day. The man robbed the lives of a small boy and three other middle aged women. He shot himself afterwards. They say it was because of the guilt, and I sure as hell hope so.

So here I am now, on a bus that was taking me to my dad's place, located in the most unknown town in existence, White Pine Bay, Oregon. My whole life has been flipped upside down, and to be honest the whole reality of it hasn't sunk in yet.

Mom had been dead for a couple months. She died near the end of my junior year. Since we lived in an apartment, our next door neighbor offered me a place to stay for a couple months. Enough time to finish school and get in contact with my dad.

It took the police a solid month just to get in contact with him. Turns out he's unreliable with a phone, and the only way they reached him was through the town's sheriff.

I can't tell you how he reacted to the news because I wasn't there to witness it. When he spoke to me over the phone it was with a firm but casual tone with no traces of sorrow or anger. Maybe that's just how he feels about the situation. Unfazed. Maybe his wife and daughter were already dead to him. We did leave with no intentions of ever coming back. And yet with some cruel twist of fate I was back, alone, stuck with the dad that mom pulled me away from.

I leaned against the cold window of the bus, my arms hugging the backpack that lay on my lap. I blew a breath and watched the window fog up and erase all traces of the town we were passing. It wasn't much longer until I'd reach White Pine Bay.

It wasn't much longer until I'd see my dad. I was terrified to see my dad. All the years we've spent apart, all the birthdays and Christmas parties he's missed made me realize I was on my way to see a stranger. The only thing I knew about the man was whatever little my mom dropped about him, and she never spoke about him. He was dead to her, and therefore dead to me. Only he wasn't really dead. He was alive and still living in the town we escaped from.

I watched the fog on my window disappear, and as the bus drove under a bridge, I caught my own reflection staring back at me. My curly locks of blonde hair were tangled, my expression blank and unnerving.

The bus finally came to a stop, White Pine Bay blinking in bold orange lights on the overhead destination sign. Nobody got up. Quickly I looped my hand through my tan bowling handbag and made my way up the aisle.

I moved past seniors and adults, each reading, sleeping, or playing around on their electronical devices, giving the destination nothing more than a single glance. As I reached the bus driver, a squat man with graying hair and dark circles embedded under his dark brown eyes, his posture straightened up and threw the bus into park.

I was about to open my mouth but his words escaped faster.

"Let me help you with your luggage, miss." I smiled my thanks, noticing a faint look of concern in his features.

I don't know what I was expecting when I got off the bus. A nice smiling father would have sufficed. Instead I stared at the deserted stop before me. Not a single soul was around, and the forests surrounding either end of the street were in no way reassuring.

"You sure this is your stop?" the man asked me as he handed me two suitcases.

"Yeah. I'm supposed to meet someone here. I'm sure they're just a bit late," I responded with a polite smile.

Taking a quick glance at my phone, I noted that my arrival was 10 minutes later than the time I had passed along to my dad. The bus driver flashed me another concerned look before retreating back into his bus and speeding away.

I watched the vehicle disappear into the horizon before looking around the deserted bus spot. It was barely 7 in the morning. I wandered out into the street, trying to find any signs of life, and to my dismay there were none.

As the sun peeked through the tall forest trees on either end of me I found myself sitting atop my gray suitcase, my head resting atop my hands.

Of all the possible scenarios I crafted in my mind I didn't even consider the fact that my old man may not even bother to show up. I mean who does that? I can accept lateness, heck I can even accept a cold greeting, but neither option was available to me at the moment.

I spent the next ten minutes sitting on my suitcase and staring at the forest of emerald green trees. Eventually I could bare it no longer, and I came to the conclusion that my father did in fact completely forget about me. It's no big deal; I mean I'm only his daughter. I guess that doesn't count for much these days. Shoving my hand into my bag I felt around for my beat up phone.

Punching in an unfamiliar number I balanced the phone against my shoulder, rummaging through my bag for something edible.

Finding nothing but a pack of tick-tacks, I abandoned my search, biting my lip as I listened to the familiar ringing followed by the disappointing busy tone.

The light fabric of my blouse danced freely as a breeze passed by me, tickling my skin for a brief moment. I lifted my body off the suitcase and began to pace around the small stretch of sidewalk. If the small bus symbol wasn't visible the area would seem very out of place.

"Hey… dad. It's Nora. Just thought you should know that I'm at the bus stop waiting for you to pick me up. Like right now. So please pick me up. Bye."

I drummed my fingers lightly against my arm as I ended the call. Great. Fantastic. Here I was in the middle of the most unknown town in existence, surrounded by nothing but stupid trees and my own thoughts.

An hour passed. I called my dad another 10 times, and each time received nothing from the other end. I felt my stomach twist into knots. I was starving, I was alone, and I was frustrated. I couldn't even fathom to believe what caused my dad's sudden loss of memory, so much so that I conjured up a mental list of possibilities.

1) He overslept.

That was a fairly reasonable conclusion. It was 7 in the morning, well, more like half past 8 now. Still it was plausible.

2) He got into a fight with a bear and managed to lock himself out of the house, surviving solely on the nuts and berries he found while rummaging the earth.

Maybe. He still could have picked me up if this did happen though.

3) He died.

There should be no other reason he couldn't pick up the phone.

I groaned, letting my long curls fall on my face and warm the back of my neck. The sun was making its way up in the sky, livening up the greens in the nearby stretch of woods, when the first sign of life appeared before me. It just so happened to appear in the form of a cop car. Never in my life had I been so thankful to see that vehicle.

I jumped to my feet, thankful that the car was slowing down before me.

"You happen to be Talbot's kid?" I stared at the stern face of a middle aged man, his badge clearly stating his authority as sheriff.

"Yeah. I've been waiting for my dad for a while now," I responded, peering in to see that the vehicle was otherwise empty. No fugitives in the back seat. That's always a good sign.

The man shook his head in disapproval, eyeing me carefully, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "Sorry to hear that he hasn't shown up. Let me give you a ride."

His smile, although trying to be reassuring made me tense. I tried to think nothing of it, and reluctantly nodded in agreement, dragging my luggage to the back of the car. The sheriff appeared on my right, extending an arm to which I gladly passed on my suitcases.

"You should forgive your dad for today," he started to say, "he's been a bit out of loop when he found out you were coming to stay with him."

"I could only imagine," I said slowly, passing along my second suitcase.

"He's a good man, but if you ever need anything, you are always free to come to me. I'm Sheriff Romero. I work alongside Deputy Shelby. I'm sure you'll meet him very soon."

"I'm No-Elenora, although people just call me Nora," I said as the sheriff closed the trunk.

"It's nice to meet you Nora," he said trying another smile.

The ride to my dad's house took no longer than 10 minutes, and I was frustrated knowing that I was perfectly capable of walking the distance rather than having to wait for my dad's nonexistent arrival.

When I stepped out of the car I was hit with a fresh wave of cool air. Breathable and less polluted air, something I hadn't grown up with, but greatly appreciated. Stretching out before me was my dad's house. To say the house was big was an understatement. It was huge. While mom and I had been working our asses off trying to pay the monthly rent of our measly 2 bedroom apartment, dad was living large.

The house was an elegant two story bungalow, with maroon siding and bricks emphasizing certain aspects of its form. I stared at it in awe. Dad had made enough money alright. Although whether or not he's still in the weed business remains a big question. It's not really something I would casually ask around the dinner table though. I'd have to figure out another way to get it out of him.

While I stood there in the driveway Sheriff Romero appeared on my right, rolling along one suitcase in each of his hands.

I put my hand on the door handle, and was about to knock before the door swung effortlessly before me.

What we saw caused Romero to pass a hand through his black hair, eyebrows creasing.

I stared at my father, spread out on the living room couch, a bottle of whiskey held loosely by his right arm. He sure as hell didn't look like he wanted to see me anytime soon.

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><p><strong>That's all for chapter 1! Thanks so much for reading! Reviews would be amazing. I appreciate any commentsquestions/suggestions you guys may have about the story, and hopefully you'll stick around for this. I may or may not come back and tweak this chapter a bit.**


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